


i lie and i’m easy

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: F/M, hm.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 21:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13152618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3





	i lie and i’m easy

“What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher.”

Beyoncé feels stupid; Jordan had told her he was a professor when they’d first met at the library months ago. She’ll just use surprise at being asked out as an excuse for not remembering.

“Of?” Beyoncé asks, tracing a finger around the rim of her margarita glass picking up salt with it and sucking it off as she listens to him start to lose his train of thought as soon as she looks him in the eye. She thinks it’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

“Bio- fuck, what’s it called?” Jordan tries to recall, his cheeks tinted a slight pink. He scratches at his head and runs his hands over his hair in the direction it grows. Beyoncé wonders if he’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t seem like it. “Biochemical engineering.”

“Sounds complicated.”

Beyoncé watches as Jordan takes a sip of his beer. She takes note of his fingers wrapped around the Blue Ribbon bottle, how his calculator watch gleams under the singular light hanging above their table.

“Makes the classes smaller by second semester,” he replies with a smile and a laugh huffed out through his nose.

“It’s all Greek to me.”

“If you’re ever considering it- which, with how you handle me being incompetent at the library, it’d be a breeze for you- you’ve got my approval.”

Approval is nice. Beyoncé wants the kind of approval that comes in the form of, “You want breakfast?” and first impressions being so good that she’s late for work the next day. She wants a call back, a, “Same place, different time?” The usual. She smiles softly and now her cheeks are a little rosy.

“Thank you, Jordan.”

“Anytime, Giselle.”

“Beyoncé,” she says into her drink somewhat, suddenly the salt and straw and alcohol more interesting than his face.

“What did you say?” Jordan asks.

“My name’s Beyoncé.”

“Where’s Giselle come from?” he asks, not seeming very disturbed by the lie she’s been telling him for months.

“My middle name.”

“It’s beautiful,” Jordan says, “Both names, I mean, they’re beautiful.”

Hearing him say her middle name conversationally makes her think about him slipping up and saying it while he’s been getting God and “fuck” confused with her. The thought of it rolling off his tongue, resonant and heavy; she crosses her legs, stepping on his tennis shoes in the process.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.

“It’s okay,” Jordan assures her. “What made you want to work at the library, Beyoncé?”

Her name coming out of his mouth sounds so sincere- she can only wishfully and somewhat greedily imagine what it sounds like when he’s saying it lowly, like he’s trying to keep it between the two of them.

“I’ve always had a love for reading, you know, and if I could stay holed up in here for dusk ‘til dawn as a child, I figured I should take it as a sign,” Beyoncé explains. Jordan listens intently, nodding as she speaks. He takes a moment to readjust his glasses and Beyoncé’s eyes flicker to the wide frames. They look sort of old; maybe he’s the kind of person who didn’t like change- who knows. She doesn’t mind much, he looks cute.

“Why are you a professor?” Beyoncé asks. She’s intrigued.

“I like the idea of teaching but not the idea of teaching kids younger than 18.”

Beyoncé can’t help but to laugh at the remark. “I don’t think they’d mind you.”

“Why?”

“You’re funny,” she says honestly.

Jordan swishes beer around in the bottle, playfully rolling his eyes. “Funny doesn’t get people to pay attention.”

“You gotta be assertive.”

“Then they think you’re a hard ass.”

“So be it.”

“That’s not the kinda guy I am,” he says, scrunching up his face dismissively and smiling meekly.

Beyoncé believes it.

* * *

 

The ride to her house is quiet. It’s on Jordan, too. When they get there, Jordan offers to walk her up to her door.

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen before I had the chance to see you again,” he says, scratching at a head Beyoncé knows doesn’t itch but calls to him out of habit when he’s nervous. She laughs, somewhat goofily, too, and he grins.

“That’s sensible. Kind, too, might I add.” She’s picking and choosing her words because she feels like she’s had one too many.

“Kindness, unlike this date, is free,” Jordan says humorously, hands in the pockets of the same trousers he probably wore to work that day. He walks up to her doorstep with her, sighing as she takes too long to mess with the keys in the door. It’s unexpectedly chilly and he doesn’t have a sweater, and his nose is a little red; so are his cheeks.

Beyoncé figures it’d be rude to let him go off without something to keep him warm.

“You wanna come inside?”

Jordan nods, stepping in behind her once she gets the door open. She slips her shoes off, padding to the kitchen and starting to heat water up while Jordan takes a seat on the couch and tells her her house is nice. She sits at the counter, looking at the pot as it steams and fogs up; she thinks about how nice it would be to just let Jordan have her anyway he wants because she really wants him, so badly it’s crazy, and sitting a foot from him for an hour or two and hearing him talk didn’t help anything. She thinks life is funny like that- dangling things in front of your face at the wrong times, just taunting you, begging you to inappropriately indulge. She laughs.

Jordan’s eyes lift from his hands in his lap. “What’s funny?”

Beyoncé stops laughing when she hears his question, trying to come up with what exactly she should say, but she cuts her brain off and laughs again. She’s on autopilot now. Smooth sailing or not, she’s given up.

“It’s just funny because, like, I wanna fuck you like, so badly…” She trails off, trying to find the correct words to say in the blackberry grapefruit-flavored margarita fueled haze blanketed over the best parts of her brain. “But you kind of seem like a prude.”

Jordan’s face doesn’t change at all save for one eyebrow, lifted in interest. “A prude?”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like-” Beyoncé burps. “Sorry, excuse me. You don’t seem like the kinda guy to just, like, dig someone out on the first date, y’know?”

Jordan makes a noise of surprise. “I don’t?”

“I feel like we gotta date for a couple of months first. You give me that vibe.”

“I can’t do much to change your mind, can I?” Jordan asks.

Beyoncé raises her eyebrows, grinning. “You could, you could. I just don’t think you’re the type of person-”

“Ah, but I don’t wanna be put in a box that negative.”

Beyoncé frowns. She fucked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. It was rude of me to say that.”

“No, you were honest, and that’s all I can ask, but I want you to get to know me for who I really am, and I’m gonna…” Jordan trails off, looking around, scratching at his head. “I’m gonna be assertive and not let your assumption of me define who I am.”

Beyoncé can’t process all of that. He said too much. “So?”

“So come here and get accustomed to me.” Jordan’s rubbing at his thigh absentmindedly as he looks at her; she returns a dumb stare for a minute before she’s laughing for the umpteenth time, getting up and eagerly walking over to him, landing in his lap a little harshly. He grunts at the sudden weight on him, but doesn’t complain.

One of his hands slides up her stomach as the other works at the buttons on her shirt, kissing at her jaw. Since he’s been in the house for some time, he’s gotten warm; Beyoncé can’t tell if it’s hot in her house or if Jordan’s getting to her. He slides her shirt off of her shoulders, kissing the exposed skin, and her attention’s flickering between the feeling of that and his hands inching her skirt up. Her lips find his and their kisses are slow, tentative.

She tastes the four Blue Ribbons he had earlier and when he slips his hand into her underwear, his lips leave hers and she sees her lipstick smeared somewhat around his mouth. She laughs, he grins.

“I thought about it,” he says into her ear, quiet as if someone’s going to catch them like this. “A lot. I think I’d be kinda stupid not to.”

She makes a questioning sound and moves against his hand as he rubs her clit, begging for more friction or even further action. Jordan feels like chatting.

“There’s so much of you to pay attention to, I just needed a minute to take all of it in; you try and play it cool but you fucked the whole thing you had going up tonight.”

“How?” Beyoncé asks, swinging her other leg over Jordan’s so her legs are spread wider.   
He eases a finger into her and her hips try to match the rhythm of his fingers as he moves along, working two more in. She clenches around them and wishes she didn’t go on a date with him in the first place.

“You drank too much,” he says, sounding as if he’s about to laugh. “You sent mixed signals. You sucked the salt off your finger like you wanted my own to be in your mouth instead and then you tried to one up me, bitch me out in a sense, and then you invited me in here without at least providing an excuse.”

She hates how smug he sounds. “You came in anyway. Whore.”

“Ah, but that proves your whole assumption wrong, doesn’t it?” Jordan fires back.

‘Ah.’ Beyoncé’s gonna grow to hate that, but for now the only thing she’s hating is how good he is with his hands because he’s making her come fast, biting at her shoulder softly and humming as she shudders against him. She turns around to face him completely and his hands find her hips, guiding them so that she’s riding his thigh while he kisses her, deep and heated. She bites at his lip, tugging on it gently, and he’s pulling at her bra straps so he can take one of her nipples into his mouth.

She doesn’t regard the tangle of limbs that occurs when she tries to slip his shirt over his head, and he stops what he’s doing to oblige her before getting back to it. She scratches at the hair at the nape of his neck, grinding against his thigh and carelessly getting his pants wet. She doesn’t think he’ll mind. She hopes he doesn’t.

In her drunken haze, something exciting comes to mind. “I’m on the pill,” Beyoncé says somewhat giddily.

Jordan’s head snaps up so fast with an accompanied snort that he almost hits her chin. “Thanks,” he says, his hands under her ass. “Get up.”

She gets up and he pulls her back down so that she’s straddling him. He does the most awkward slink down the couch and she giggles, but it dissipates into a soft moan when his head’s between her thighs and he’s working another orgasm out of her. As soon as she comes he’s up on his feet, one of his hands flat against her back as a signal for her to arch it.

“How’s the second impression going so far?” Jordan asks, somewhat smug; Beyoncé can hear an underlying hopefulness and she smiles.

“Pretty good.”

“Good,” he says, quiet as he pushes into her slowly. The stretch she feels as she accommodates to him is a little unbelievable but she’s able to get used to it because he’s gentle.

“New assumption,” Beyoncé breathes out, gripping the back of the couch harder when he gets deeper than he’d been before.

“Yep?”

“There’s a direct correlation between being geeky and nice and having a bigger dick.”

Jordan snorts. “Possibly,” he replies, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her up and off the couch. He walks both of them to the chair a few feet away, thrusting up into her as they walk. He gently pushes her into the chair and she’s folded, ass in the air. How she’s able to fit in the chair that way is lost on her, but finding logic in anything is a bit hard for her now because Jordan’s found his rhythm and he’s fucking her roughly enough to make the chair scrape backward.

“Jordan,” she manages to squeak out.

“Hm?” he asks between short grunts, fingers digging into her skin.

She really doesn’t want to die; she feels like she is, so she’s doing the right thing for herself and stopping it. She’s pushing on his stomach, at least she’s trying to, and she’s crying, too. She’s so overwhelmed by whatever the fuck he’s doing to her that warning him about her coming again is the last thing on her mind and she’s curling her toes and crying his name, forcing air into her lungs and almost choking on it.

“Stop,” she forces herself to half yell.

Jordan stops immediately.

“I just need…” She hiccups. “I just need a break for a second-“

She cuts herself off with a surprised, dull noise at Jordan picking her up and sitting down in her place, making her straddle him. Despite asking for rest, she’s lowering herself onto him again and sniffling when she shifts an inch to the left and gets reminded of why she needs to send him home. He’s drying her tears.

“Did I hurt you?” Jordan asks sincerely.

Yes, he hurt her feelings, he sent her to an early grave without any kind of obituary or farewell speech.

“No,” Beyoncé says, riding Jordan hard and shaking because the sensations are too much for her.

He kisses her, mumbling against her mouth about how he’s about to come. She rides him as hard as he can, the rough sound of skin hitting skin filling the room. He comes with a deep groan, lifting his hips up and pressing deeply into her one last time. Watching him makes Beyoncé come again, an unintelligible mess of nothing coming from her before she slumps forward, resting her head on Jordan’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

“Can you cook?” Jordan asks as he and Beyoncé still sit in the same position.

“Yeah, why?” Beyoncé answers quietly,

Her everything’s been rubbed fucking raw, anything he says gets the best response.

“Think you could cook me breakfast tomorrow morning? I’ve got a meeting to catch.”

Approval is the sweetest thing. Beyoncé has proved herself. She’ll be able to die happy whenever Jordan’s ready for another round. 


End file.
